


nursing on a poison

by lady_gt



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Biting, Blood, Crying, Cutting, Knifeplay, M/M, and i mean like if you thought ishy was bad in my other fics he's WAY worse here, ba'alzamon is a DICK, but also not sorry enough to put you in this situation anyways, but not kinky biting, fuck off you literal rapist, inappropriate use of tel'aran'rhiod, more like, rand sweetie i'm so sorry, this one gets fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_gt/pseuds/lady_gt
Summary: In which Rand finds out just what sorts of pain he might face should he get too defiant.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	nursing on a poison

He's well aware of how futile continuing to fight is, but he does anyways.

Rand's really not sure why he's trying to fight off Ba'alzamon to begin with - he's _helpless_. He's trapped in his own dreams and doesn't even have the privilege of movement within his own head. Every time he tries to move his hands or crane his head he can't feel his limbs that are almost rendered stiff. He's a prisoner of his own Light-forsaken mind and he hates it. But that doesn't mean he doesn't try to fight Ba'alzamon off.

Ba'alzamon reaches his hand down to force Rand's mouth open. With what little strength he has he bites down, feeling his teeth dig into the thin flesh wrapped over those bony fingers - if he listens hard enough or is lucky enough maybe he'd hear bones crack. He gets a hiss in response, blight-red eyes staring down at him and mouth set into a light scowl.

"You're acting like a _child_ , Lews Therin."

He doesn't answer. He can feel his hair clustered sweaty and limp around his face. He's not wearing any clothes (he'd managed to hear the sound of cloth faintly through his own frantic heartbeat tearing as Ba'alzamon methodically ripped his clothes off). He just breathes, clogged up.

"You know you don't have as much power here as you should. Why are you fighting me? It'd be so much easier if you just listened."

That last sentence stings. He knows what it means on the surface, but there's more to it. He knows that giving in and forsaking his status as the Dragon Reborn, leaving behind life as a hero, would be terrifyingly easy. There's a selfishness in everyone including him and Ba'alzamon is desperately trying to pry it out. He doesn't care how many scars he leaves behind or how many tears of split flesh and muscle he leaves, he just cares that he gets what he wants.

Rand just shakes his head. He can't talk - he doesn't have the strength to. And saying "no" isn't going to stop Ba'alzamon. It didn't stop him earlier. But he says that word - no - more times in his head than he can count. He's afraid and he's counting on silent pleads to stop even though he knows it won't work.

The edge of the knife gleams bright; light reflects off it and makes Rand flinch.

"I remember back when we'd first met one another, Lews Therin. You'd like me using a blade on you. Using it hard enough to make you bleed."

 _Light, no_ , Rand thinks, fear gripping his heart. _No. Please no._

"Since you are Lews Therin, I'm certain you'd like me using a blade on you just as much as you did then."

The first digging of metal into his skin leaves Rand with a scream choking and raw stuck inside of his throat. He tenses up feeling a bead of blood drip its way down across the thin side of the knife. He hates the way he can see the tip of the blade dig deep enough and nearly brush bone, its silhouette pressed just underneath his skin. For the first time since he'd been cornered, Rand manages to speak.

"I don't want this," he pleads, voice dry and low. "I don't want this. Just - stop - I don't want you, I don't want to be turned-"

"Maybe Lews Therin will not, but Rand al'Thor will."

His breathing's part pained and creaky, part shuddering and hot when Ba'alzamon forces his cock inside. It hurts. It hurts because he can feel his skin stretching to the point of tearing at the intrusion, because that's when he gets the knife stuck in him again. His wounds sting, he's just shaking his head and silently pleading _Nononononono_ when his mind's not blinded by pain. Blood drips sticky and sickly-sweet metallic down his skin.

He didn't start crying when Ba'alzamon first violated him, let alone when he made the first cut. No, Rand starts crying when Ba'alzamon leans his head down to first lick up the drips of blood and then put his mouth to a gore-slick wound on his collarbone and suck. He keeps trying to scratch at him with what little strength he has left, but he can't do it when his limbs ache if he even tries resisting. He saves his strength for crying, feeling Ba'alzamon's cock wet with blood moving in and out of him. It feels like burning, he reflects through sobbing. Snot bubbles up on his face, salty tears sting the shallower cuts that Ba'alzamon decides to leave all around his nose and under his eyes.

When Ba'alzamon cums he can't feel anything but disgust at the sticky viscuous substance that stains his hole white. He can still feel the trickling of blood leaking from out of the cuts and onto his skin, phlegm clogging his throat and resulting in labored breathing. He's broken, spent, disgusting, dirty - he was too weak. He was too weak. He was too weak. That's all he can think to himself. That's all he knows.

"Those cuts'll make for such lovely scars. Fitting on someone like you."

Rand can only give him baleful eyes and distorted hiccups in response.

Ba'alzamon isn't stupid, though. He heals Rand's wounds so he won't get questions about them when he wakes up - he does leave fainter scars along his stomach and chest, though, so Rand won't forget. He takes his time to smooth Rand's hair away from his face like he was comforting a small child just to remark on how lovely he looks when he's crying. 

This is a warning. A warning about how his being able to touch _saidin_ won't always be able to save him, and what might happen to him if he refuses one too many times. 

"After all," Ba'alzamon says softly, "There's always worse to worry about than cuts. Much worse."

He wakes up far away from that wretched place, feeling like he's about to be sick.

**Author's Note:**

> basically took whatever underlying nastiness ishamael had in my previous fics and cranked it up a whole lot. kind of hard to explain/articulate his thought process - i had a p good grasp on it WHILE i was writing/before i was writing but i cant really explain it? like. ishmael's trying to... let rand know "this is what happens if you get on my bad side one too many times" or whatever. idk something something power dynamics.
> 
> challenge was basically "how uncomfortable can i make anyone reading this ficlet" and. it was an interesting one. mainly because i actually think i had to pause writing to go throw up (although that may have been from some weird medical issue/food poisoning thing i've been dealing w - its getting better bc i was able to talk to my doctor about it tho)
> 
> was kinda inspired by gqsa's stuff although tbh my stuff's probably a LOT tamer??? idk thats something im working on. but,,, i might make this into.... a series... where each new chapter/part/whatever is just "lets see how much i can fuck up my faves and my readers in under 1000 words". idk tho. idk
> 
> but. yeah. we're done. bye


End file.
